


Never Look Back

by hellscabanaboy



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Fighting, Gen, or beatdowns maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:12:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellscabanaboy/pseuds/hellscabanaboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanbei's ready to deal with everything that might stand in Hideyoshi's way. Maeda Keiji is just one more nuisance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "the first time Hanbei called on the darkness in his fighting spirit."

There’s no need for the two of them to tarry in the little mountain village any longer. Anything Hideyoshi had once had here is now in the past, best left behind with everything else that’s no longer worthy of the man he’s become. As for Hanbei, he’s only too glad to put the long months of his retirement behind him. There are better places for him to die, now.

They slip away at night, as the first rusty glow of dawn is starting to gather on the horizon. There’s no need to carry anything with them, either, besides the few bags Hanbei had readied while Hideyoshi saw to his own affairs. Before long they would have raised an army, and there would be much more for Hanbei to oversee. He’s ready for that, too, so full of ideas that he scarcely notices the morning chill.

They leave his mind in an instant at the sight of Maeda Keiji, standing in the path towards the foothills in the east. Red-cheeked as though he’s been there all night, which of course he might well have, and that absurd monstrosity of a sword sheathed but ready in his hand.

From the corner of his eye Hanbei sees Hideyoshi’s shoulders tense, barely perceptibly. If this is going to be a fight, it’s best to start it now and have it done with. Hideyoshi hardly needs the delay of a drawn-out conversation.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Keiji-kun,” he says, strolls towards him - though he isn’t, not really, the man could most always be counted upon to appear when his meddling was least required. “I thought you’d have run off already. That is what you do when you run into trouble, is it not?”

“Hanbei,” says Hideyoshi at his back, quiet and tight.

“Was this your doing, Hanbei?” Keiji’s voice quivers on his name, even in his anger. It’s infuriating - he could at least have made sure to calm himself before starting such a confrontation. “You’ve been hanging around him, making him listen to you - did you put him up to this?”

Before Hanbei can reply Hideyoshi steps forwards, his fist raised, and even Keiji steps back minutely. Thinking of the blood he imagines there, no doubt - of course, he never could see past it. “This was my decision, Keiji,” he says. “Hanbei merely had the strength to stand by my side. As you could, too, if you had heeded.”

“Listen to me, Hideyoshi, this isn’t strength!” he shouts, like he’s spent the night readying the speech only for it all to come tumbling from his mouth at once. “Can’t you see what you’ve done? What you’re going to do, Hideyoshi, can’t you see what you’ve lost!?”

Hanbei’s hand goes to the hilt of his sword, grips it taut.

And Hideyoshi holds his position, doesn’t advance, tense enough that his fists tremble in the air. He could have killed him already, since they’d been talking. Could have crushed his worthless body into the ground and let it become part of the foundation of the new world.

He hasn’t.

“You go ahead, Hideyoshi.” He steps forward like it were casual, brushes fingers lightly over his arm - and of course, there’s no reason it wouldn’t be. “There’s no need for you to concern yourself with this.”

“Like hell there isn’t!” shouts Keiji, slams his sword into the ground - and he’ll regret that, once it comes down to a fight - but Hanbei catches Hideyoshi’s eye, gives him a warm smile.

“It’s like you said. You’ve already left all this behind you.” He speaks softly, under Keiji’s shouting in the background, and it’s still a sort of thrill when Hideyoshi leans in to hear him instead. “I’m your strategist, am I not? It’s no more than my duty to deal with such a simple obstacle.”

“Hanbei,” Hideyoshi says again, muscle hard as rock beneath Hanbei’s fingers.

“Do you doubt me?”

“Never,” he says, and there it is, all the clarity that Hanbei looks to him for, that nothing so petty as this man’s meddling could ever take away. “You are more than strong enough.”

Hanbei steps back, draws his blade from its sheath. “Then leave this to me.”

Hideyoshi nods, slowly, his eyes following the blade. But he withdraws, and Keiji calls after him but jumps back as Hanbei lashes out with his whip. Maybe now, he’ll need to keep his mind on his place.

“You see?” Hanbei says, lets his smile stretch across his face. “There’s no point trying to talk to him. What he’s looking at is much greater than your petty grudge, Keiji-kun, no matter how you might try not to see.”

“You can’t protect him forever,” Keiji says through gritted teeth. “Hideyoshi wouldn’t want this. He couldn’t. He’ll realize what he’s done and—”

Hanbei doesn’t even do him the grace of an answer. Just sends his whip fling with a flick of his arm, hauls it back towards him with all the strength his feeble body can muster. And the sound Keiji makes as the blades sink into his flesh is more than gratifying, but it’s been too long sincer he’s fought this way - the blades tangle as they strike, without the momentum to separate Keiji from his sword, and the moment it takes Hanbei to pull the weapon back to him is enough to let him free it from the ground.

Months spent in dimness on that mountain, ready to die even while there’s still breath in his throat. Hanbei had assumed he’d not so much as hold a sword again, that it would only make him seem the more foolish if he were to try. Even without the burden of the illness tugging at his limbs, it’s hardly a wonder that he should make even such an obvious error.

He can’t let himself make another. Not anymore.

Their blades ring together, Hanbei dancing just outside the range of Keiji’s sword-arm. Fencing him in with whip-cuts from every direction, and Keiji dodges them, blocks them, takes glancing blows but never lets the whip catch him. It’s an appallingly even match, really, Keiji as slowed by his grief as Hanbei is by his debility, and it’s become a battle of endurance as much as anything else. Hanbei breathes, as deliberately as he swings his whip, keeps each of his movements steady and efficient as possible. Conserves his strength. He’ll need to learn to do it on the battlefield, in any case.

But still, that’s a battle Hanbei can’t win.

He chokes down the coughs that threaten to burst forth from his chest. Of all people he won’t give Keiji the satisfaction. But he can’t keep his sword arm from falling as he doubles over, sucks in wrenching frantic breaths, and if Keiji had had anywhere near the strength that Hideyoshi had hoped for in him Hanbei would have been dead where he stands - but then, if he had there would have been no need for this fight at all. As it is he goes to one knee, gasping, and the massive blade quivers in the air a foot too far from his throat.

“…Hanbei?” Keiji asks, like his very weakness had stopped him in his tracks more effectively than his attacks had. Like he’s concerned, and Hanbei digs his nails into the dirt and listens to his footsteps come tentatively closer, to the rasping sound of his own inadequate breath.

He turns his face aside. Glances behind him to look for Hideyoshi in the distance, but the dawn has come while they fought, and the morning sun glares in his eyes. And he lets out one harsh, pinched laugh, because there’s no need for him to look in any case: of course Hideyoshi has already gone, far, far beyond this. There’s nothing that can hold him back now.

Hanbei already knows he’ll die like this. Accepts it, so far as such a thing is possible. He had thought he’d accepted the weakness that came before it, as well. But then there was Hideyoshi, and Hideyoshi had called him strong regardless, and he doesn’t have the luxury of acceptance anymore.

He draws in one more shuddering breath. Listens to the time of Keiji’s footsteps - no, that’s no good, when has the man ever done anything in rhythm? Just waits, and clutches the hilt of his sword imperceptibly tighter, and stares narrow-eyed past him into the distance, where the last of the night is starting to disappear into tendrils of dawn. But not yet gone. Not yet.

One more step closer. One too-timid flutter of that blade in the air, and Hanbei strikes.

He only has one chance. But it’s enough. His whip catches Keiji around the legs to fast even to see, drags him to the ground, and Hanbei’s heart races at the cry he makes as he hits the ground. It gives him the strength to spring to his feet, send the whip flying back to lash him across his exposed side. And there’s power crackling along the length of his blade, the last he has to offer - or it would have been, but it redoubles along with every strike, just enough to let him deal the next blow. Stretched into one more moment, and that into the next, as long as his rain of blows never falters. And that’s all Hanbei needs. Only just long enough.

He reels Keiji back in along with the whip, stops his body in place with the flat of his re-formed blade, and revels in the stunned blankness on his face. Reaches up like a lover to dig fingernails into his throat, and even that little cruelty is thrilling. Strong.

“Do you understand now?” he rasps into Keiji’s ear, yanks his head back by the hair on the nape of his neck. “It was your own weakness that let this happen. And that’s what Hideyoshi can never tolerate.”

The damned man still doesn’t give up, even when he has to struggle just to raise his head. “Hideyoshi’s - not what you think he is—” he manages through gritted teeth.

Hanbei laughs. “He will be.”

He lets the whip lash out once more. Wants to keep this going, wants to keep the strength flooding into his body until it’s Keiji who struggles to breathe, Keiji watching his life pour away through his fingers. Hanbei retracts his sword. Lowers it, point first, concentrated power nearly humming along the blade. He can finish this now, and be done with it. Return to Hideyoshi’s side, the last possible thing that could have kept him back left broken under Hanbei’s blade.

Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi still holds out hope for this one, somehow. That he can be more than he is - that even he could one day be strong. For himself, Hanbei can’t imagine such a thing. But he could hardly presume to gainsay Hideyoshi where matters of strength are concerned.

And if he isn’t, Hideyoshi can always dispose of him himself. Really, that would be satisfying enough for Hanbei to forgo the pleasure now.

He sends his whip flying one last time, slams Keiji to the ground hard enough to send a cloud of dust into the air. The power is already starting to drain from him, along with the resolve of the fight, but it still has its own satisfaction to see him lying there, crushed into the dirt where he belongs. He’ll lie like this beneath Hideyoshi, before long, mere mortar in the foundation of the new land.

Hanbei brushes the dirt carefully from his jacket, waits as long as he has to for his breaths to come evenly. And turns aside. Back the way Hideyoshi had gone, and doesn’t even bother to shield his eyes from the sun.


End file.
